Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
A few months ago, Junior stopped settling his account at the end of each week. I tried to talk to him, see if there was a problem he needed help with, but he’d been tight-lipped. He left me with no choice except to cut him off.
“I’ll handle it,” Hawk muttered.
He was an Iron Rogues enforcer who worked security for the bar on occasion when he wasn’t doing club business or on assignment with Iron Shield—the security company owned by our club and Midnight, another patched member.
“Thanks.” I leaned back in the chair I’d dragged to the end of one of the booths, taking in the room with a sharp sweep of my eyes.
The Midnight Rebel was more than just a bar. After the clubhouse, it was the beating heart of the Iron Rogues.
It had an old-school feel, almost vintage, but it was also gritty and pulsed with danger and quiet power. It was an upscale twist on a typical MC bar, with plenty of grit but also masculine charm.
Dim pendant lights bathed the space in warm gold, casting long shadows across dark-stained walnut and mahogany furniture. The bar stretched long and gleamed with polish, lined with perfectly spaced stools. The wall behind it had shelves of top-shelf whiskey that glinted under the low light. No flash, just strength. Tradition. Power.
Everything about the place was built to last, including the solid wood tables and chairs and black leather booths made for serious conversations. The club’s skull-and-handlebars insignia was painted boldly across one wall. A claim of ownership and warning all in one, it dared anyone to forget whose territory they were in.
The place whispered danger and loyalty in the same breath. This wasn’t some dive bar in the center of town. It was another sanctuary. The clubhouse was exclusive and secretive, by invitation only. Something that was very rarely extended beyond brothers, their families, and prospects. But The Midnight Rebel was a place outside the compound for us to drink, laugh, and relax with outsiders. Although, the customers were most often people who were loyal to the Iron Rogues.
While we were open to the public, it wasn’t a place that welcomed strangers easily. Every knot in the wood grain, every flicker of candlelight on steel and leather, said the same thing. You’re either one of us…or you’re in the wrong damn bar.
Other than Hawk walking Junior out the door, I didn’t see anything else that seemed off. So I turned back to the booth and looked down at the papers and computer set in front of me.
Phoenix, the club’s treasurer—and a fucking genius with numbers—was going through the bar’s books with me since we were nearing the end of the year and had some renovations we planned to start in January. It was mind-numbing shit, but as the manager and co-owner, it was part of the job.
“You doing okay, baby?” Phoenix asked his wife, Lindsay, softly, rubbing a hand over her swollen belly.
She nodded and leaned back in the booth, stretching her legs out to prop them on the bench seat across from them.
His gentle tone made me smirk, thinking about how he’d been adamant that he’d never let a woman get a grip on his balls. He couldn’t have been more wrong because the asshole seemed to have lost all his dignity.
After he finished promising her a foot rub, he caught me watching them with amusement.
“What?” he growled.
I shrugged. “Just never thought I’d see you go so soft.”
He rolled his eyes. “Only for her. And our kids. Everyone else still gets a bullet.”
I snorted at the thought that what he said was true…unless his old lady told him not to.
“You’ll see,” he muttered before turning back to the numbers.
The front door opened again, letting in a cool breeze. Phoenix glanced up, and a wide smile broke over his face.
At his unusual expression, I shifted around to see who’d entered the bar and—holy fuck.
Phoenix’s eighteen-year-old sister walked inside, but it was the girl who followed her that had all of my attention.
She looked about Lainie’s age, probably around a half a foot shorter than my 6’3”, and despite her clear hesitance, she walked gracefully, with an enticing swing in her hips. She had a heart-shaped face, full round lips, and a straight nose with a tiny sparkling stud on the left side, and the most enchanting cornflower-blue eyes I’d ever seen. Her golden blond corkscrew curls bounced as she walked, hanging to just below her shoulder blades.
She wore dark green scrubs, but they didn’t hide her full, rounded tits and slender, toned body. I instantly knew that she would fit perfectly against mine.
“Bro!” Lainie screeched, running over to throw herself into Phoenix’s arms the second he was on his feet.
“Hey, kid,” he greeted her, then grunted, “What the fuck, Lainie? You didn’t tell me you were coming.”